


Sea Change

by Mice



Series: Sea Change [12]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flynn Feels, Flynn as a pirate, Flynn had an utterly shit life, M/M, Mathias feels, Mentions of Child Abuse (past), non-graphic mentions of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26577649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: Flynn keeps a promise, and then another one. Mathias listens and tries to understand.This is the story of how Flynn Fairwind became a pirate, until he wasn't, and what happened after.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Series: Sea Change [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875685
Comments: 102
Kudos: 75





	1. The Trial

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to the ever-patient and overly enthusiastic JaguarMirror.
> 
> There are non-graphic descriptions of rape at a couple of points in this story. Flynn had a very shitty childhood. Prepare yourself. I will note the individual chapters where mentions occur.

"I told you he couldn't change," Lord Romano said. Mathias grit his teeth, one fist clenched, and said nothing. "I told you, but you're thinking with what's dangling between your legs, Shaw! Defending those criminals, after everything that happened -- after _you_ risked the security of the entire Alliance for him -- how is that not verging on treason?"

Flynn had been dragged through the mud in the courtroom that day and there had been nothing Mathias could do but watch. The trial itself was highly classified because it had involved both the treasury and Mathias's own personal relationship with Flynn, touching too closely on the Alliances's vulnerability through its Spymaster's heart. There were moments when it had been shattering to sit there, unable to even offer an opinion. He'd never have let Romano into the room, but the man had been in charge of security for this type of proceeding for years, and he couldn't justify his removal simply because Romano irked him.

Flynn's request for clemency on the pirates' behalf had not been well-received, as Mathias expected, but listening to Flynn's arguments had given him some insight into the man, and into his past. It was no wonder Flynn hadn't wanted to speak of it before. Even the fragments that he'd revealed in that courtroom were obviously deeply painful for him. And Flynn had promised to talk to him about it after the trial; he expected he'd be learning a great deal more very soon. The decision about the fate of Hayaji and his remaining crew would be handed down by the end of the day.

"He _has_ changed," Mathias insisted, angry. "Were you even listening to what he said?" He gestured back toward the closed chamber doors.

"I heard enough to know that his pardon wasn't warranted. That you risking the treasury for him was an act of lunacy and that King Anduin should be re-evaluating your position as Master of SI:7." There was spite in Romano's dark eyes.

"Flynn did more for the Alliance during the war than you have in all the time I've known you," Mathias spat. "The amount of the ransom was ultimately immaterial -- it could have been ten coppers, and my response would have had to be the same. That kind of a threat could not stand. A message had to be sent."

"The message that you're ultimately subject to manipulation by attacking Fairwind?" Romano snorted.

Mathias glowered, wanting to eviscerate him and knowing he couldn't. "The message that you do not touch him, or I will utterly annihilate you. I will destroy you and everything you hold dear." His voice was barely more controlled than a snarl. Romano backed away from him a step, probably not conscious of the fact that he'd done so. Mathias felt a vicious stab of satisfaction at seeing it; he was perfectly willing to let Romano wonder if he'd meant the general or the specific sense. "The only thing keeping that lot from dancing the hangman's jig in Boralus is the fact that Flynn Fairwind is a better man than I will ever be. That you can't recognize it is down to your own blindness." Romano's eyes narrowed. "You know that none of the details of this trial can be discussed outside of these chambers," Mathias reminded him, "so don't go getting the idea that you'll take me down with it."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Romano said, composure recovered, his voice smooth as butter. In this particular instance, Mathias knew that was probably the case, but there would no doubt be other incidents that would drive the man. As nobility, he felt entitled to more power than he had within the organization, and he'd long been making subtle digs at Mathias, attempting to undermine his position without undermining SI:7 itself. He wanted Mathias's seat for himself.

Romano nodded. "I know what's already been released under your orders. Nothing else leaves these chambers," he agreed. "The risk to the Alliance is too great. Thanks entirely to you, of course, and your weakness for that Kul Tiran--"

Mathias snapped, "If you say another word about him, you'll be cleaning latrines in Draenor for the next ten years."

"Of course, Master Shaw," Romano said, with a slight nod. 

Flynn and his crew filed from the chamber, all of them sombre. Flynn's shoulders drooped, devastation in his eyes. The crew gathered around him, hands on his shoulder, or his hip, or his back, offering what words they could, and he nodded to them, returning those gestures of comfort. Billie was silent and angry, but she clung to Flynn's waist for several minutes as the crew conversed in murmurs, his hand resting on the top of her head.

Romano watched for a moment, silently judgmental, and returned to the courtroom. Mathias went to Flynn.

"Was the sentence handed down already?" Mathias asked, resting his hand on Flynn's shoulder as the crew stood, still clustered around.

Flynn shook his head. "They said in an hour, but we all know what's going to happen." Flynn watched as his crew departed, murmuring quietly together. He sighed. "They understand. Well, Billie doesn't, but the rest of them do."

Mathias slid his arm around Flynn's waist. "We don't have to be here while they debate. You look like you could use a drink. I assume you want to be here for the sentencing." Flynn nodded.

"A drink would be a good idea." Flynn sounded exhausted and Mathias couldn't blame him.

He led Flynn out of the chambers, then down the stairs and out of the Stockade complex; they walked toward the Mage Quarter. "I was appalled by how they treated you in there," Mathias said. "You were the victim. You were the one held hostage."

Flynn shrugged, hands in his greatcoat pockets. The breeze ruffled his hair. "It went about as well as I expected, really. I did tell you it would fall out that way. That they'd use my past against me, what they could find of it. The pardon. It was ridiculous to hope I'd make a difference. Hayaji and his crew won't be granted anything by that lot. They sounded like they wanted to see me in the next cell over." They entered the Blue Recluse and found a table.

Mathias rested a hand on Flynn's knee as they ordered their drinks. Flynn buried his face in his hands, elbows on the table. "I know whatever happens, you'd wish worse for them."

"Maybe not as much now. I think I understand some of it a little better." He sighed and squeezed Flynn's knee. "They took you from me, and they hurt you. Of course I wanted to see them suffer." He drew a deep breath. "But it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. And I got you back, with your ship and your whole crew intact, in the end." Letting go of any of it had been a challenge but Mathias thought he might be able to now, with the sentence that would be handed down, and word getting out about the destruction of the _Despair_ and the death of most of her crew.

"I made a promise to you not that long ago," Flynn said. "That I'd tell you, when this was over." Mathias nodded. "Tonight," Flynn said. "Just… I think I need to be really drunk first."

Mathias's heart ached. "If that's what you need," he murmured, as their beer arrived.

"Probably for the best."

"I'm here," Mathias told him, as Flynn drank half his beer in one long draught. "I don't care what they said about you in there. I'm still here. I'll still be here after you tell me."

Flynn looked at him before draining his mug. "I hope so."

***

Flynn sat with Mathias in the court chamber, against the wall in chairs opposite Hayaji and his crew. They all looked resigned to what everyone knew was about to happen. The judges entered, severe in their black robes. Flynn suppressed a shiver and Mathias slipped his arm around Flynn's waist. Neither of them spoke.

Lord Tony Romano stood to the side of the judicial seats, and guards stood near the chained prisoners. Romano glared more at Flynn than he did at Hayaji, but that didn't surprise him either. He knew he was a bone of contention between Mathias and Romano. He'd never have chosen to be a burden to his matelot, but it was more than obvious that he was one.

He'd been under the impression that Romano had always been a thorn in Mathias's side, but his presence in Stormwind had sparked something ugly. The simmering resentment in Romano flared whenever Flynn was around, he could see it in the nobleman's eyes. Normally, Flynn would have taken a certain amount of glee in rubbing some toff's nose in it, but this hurt Mathias. Flynn could feel the undercurrent of threat, like the stinging tendrils of jellyfish in the tide.

The judges settled and then silence fell in the court chamber. "The defendants will rise for the sentence," the highest judge said. Hayaji and the crew of the _Despair_ rose, prodded by the guards. Hayaji and Apu'jin held their heads high, defiant to the last. The other four -- an orc, a goblin, and two trolls -- simply stood in subdued silence.

"It is the judgment of the High Court of Stormwind that the vulpera Hayaji, formerly of the pirate vessel _Despair_ , and his crew shall be sentenced to ten years in the Stormwind Stockade for piracy upon the high seas, and for threatening the security and stability of the Alliance by unlawfully taking the trade vessel _Bold Arva_ and her crew and holding them for ransom. The sentence shall be carried out immediately."

The high judge banged his gavel on the bench, and the judges rose and left the chambers, with Romano behind them, shooting one last, blistering glance at Flynn.

"I-I'd like to talk to Hayaji before they take them away, if I could," Flynn told Mathias.

Mathias nodded and rose, Flynn's hand in his. "Come on." He gestured to the guards, who paused as they were leading the prisoners away. "Give us a few minutes with Captain Hayaji and the First Mate," he said. The guards looked at each other and nodded, taking the other crew members to the far side of the room, near the exit down to the prison complex, and waited.

Hayaji and Apu'jin stood before them, hands chained behind their backs, secured to metal collars fastened around their necks, watching Flynn and Mathias. "I did my best," Flynn said. "I'm sorry."

Hayaji looked at the floor for a moment then back up at Flynn. "I never thought you'd really do it, you know. Speak for us. We all knew you and your people would be here," he pointed his muzzle at Mathias, "and him. We knew you'd have to testify about what happened. But what you said, what you did, trying to get that bunch of landlubbers to understand…" Hayaji sighed.

"You a good man, Fairwind," Apu'jin said. "Ya got honor."

"We won't forget it." Hayaji hesitated. "Ten years. It feels like forever."

"At least we ain't hangin'."

Hayaji nodded. "We'll be out someday," he said. "I'll stand you a drink, Fairwind. I saw what they did to you today, what that cost you. Shaw cost us everything, but you warned us, and I didn't listen."

Mathias shifted uneasily next to Flynn. Flynn put an arm around his waist. "I told you it wasn't about me. It could never be about me."

"We gambled and lost," Hayaji said with a shrug. "So many dead," he murmured. "But Apu'jin and I are still alive. There's that, at least."

Flynn nodded. "I hope the time won't weigh too heavy on you."

"Lighter than a noose," Apu'jin said, her voice flat.

The guards across the room moved restlessly. "It's time," Mathias said.

Flynn nodded. "Maybe I'll see you in ten years," he said.

"Count on it."

Mathias took Flynn by the elbow and led him away.

***

Flynn was curled into a corner of the sofa, working on his second glass of rum, eyes half closed and obviously trying to ignore everything around him for at least a few minutes. It hurt to watch. Mathias had changed from his armor into civilian clothes not just because he didn't have to work for the rest of the evening and it was more comfortable, but because he hoped that it would help Flynn feel safer, to remind him that they were home and that Flynn belonged there.

Mathias sat with him, uncertain how to respond to a man who wasn't saying anything, but who was obviously miserable. He eased closer and slid an arm around Flynn's shoulders; Flynn leaned into him, resting his forehead against Mathias's temple. He could smell the rum on Flynn's breath.

Flynn finished the glass and set it on the floor. 

"Do you want another?" Mathias asked.

Flynn shook his head. "No. But I probably need it." Mathias reached for the nearby bottle and Flynn picked up the glass he'd set down and held it out to him. He poured and Flynn stared at the glass for a moment, took a deep breath, and swilled it all down. "That… That should do it, I think." Mathias put the bottle down, took the glass from him, and set it out of the way.

With a sigh, Mathias lay back against the opposite arm of the sofa and drew Flynn back with him, letting him lie atop his body. He held Flynn in his arms, running his fingers gently through Flynn's auburn hair as Flynn rested his head on Mathias's shoulder. His feet hung off the edge of the sofa. Flynn shivered, a slight motion that soon passed.

Mathias nuzzled into Flynn's hair. "You know that none of what I heard in there changes what I feel for you."

"I know Lord Stick Up His Ass was giving you trouble again. I'd introduce him to a brick wall in a dark alley some night if I thought I could get away with it." Flynn didn't look at him, his face still buried in Mathias's shoulder, voice muffled.

Mathias sighed. "I might be tempted to look the other way if you did, but no good would come of it."

"'S why I haven't," Flynn grumbled.

"Trust me, I've been sorely tempted myself."

Flynn turned his head to look at Mathias. "Seriously, why haven't you left him in a ditch somewhere?"

"I can't." He sighed. "Okay, that's not strictly true, I could. But people would ask questions that would lead to instability inside SI:7 and, unfortunately, his presence in the organization is as a representative of the House of Nobles. While our disagreements are most often dealt with privately, it's well known that he fancies himself my rival. Were he to disappear, it would be laid at my feet, whether I'd had anything to do with it or not. And that, unfortunately, would cause the King a great deal of trouble."

"Mmm. Best not to cause Himself problems."

"Exactly."

Flynn shook his head. "Sometimes things were easier to deal with when I could just shove a bloke overboard and have done with it."

"I thought you didn't approve of such things." Mathias was curious, given Flynn's vigorous and personally costly defense of Hayaji.

"Pirate," Flynn said with a snort. He paused, shifting in Mathias's arms to get closer. "Mostly, I don't, but there's a time and a place. If you're at sea, a week from land in any direction, and you know someone's just waiting to put a dagger in your back, sometimes the only decision you can make to keep the whole crew safe is to have the bastard walk the plank."

"Not the brig?" Not that Mathias disagreed, but he wondered about the reasoning.

"If the ship has a brig and you put him in it, you run the risk of him spreading whatever poison he's been spouting. Inciting mutiny. Creating a bigger group of mutineers. If he wants to murder you and you keep him like that, it's a waste of water and grub. The longer it lasts, the bigger the chance that someone'll let him out, or do his dirty work for him." And that sounded like the voice of painful experience to Mathias's ears. "The lash doesn't work on everyone. Once in a while an actual example has to be set. I'm not saying you've a mutiny on your hands just yet, but Romano? He has the feel of a mutineer to me. Not today. Maybe even not next year, but it's there like a grain of sand in an oyster, just looking to become a pearl."

"He's been about that irritating for years," Mathias agreed.

"Watch him, love," Flynn murmured. "I don't want to come home someday to his dagger in your back."

Mathias shook his head. "It's not his style. He'll go for the poisoned tongue approach."

"Doesn't mean he won't talk somebody more direct into it." Flynn's arms tightened around him.

"I'm watching. I have been for a long time. I'm careful."

Flynn sighed. "I know, I know. It's just… this lot, here in Stormwind, they're slippery. I don't trust most of them as far as I could fling them. A bunch of power-drunk toffs, and then there's me, dancing into your life and upsetting the balance."

"Flynn--"

"You can't tell me people haven't been causing you more trouble since you took up with me."

Mathias cupped Flynn's cheek in his hand and tilted his head, kissing him. "I won't try to tell you that you haven't brought a certain amount of trouble. You have, and I knew you would. I accept that. But you've also brought things I never expected to see. Good things. Things that have improved my life more than you can understand."

Flynn kissed him back. "Not that I don't think you believe that, but I don't think you believe that."

Mathias groaned, his head dropping back on the arm of the sofa. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a fortifying breath. "Flynn, listen to me." He looked into Flynn's eyes again. Light, the man was beautiful. "I didn't have anything even vaguely resembling a personal life before I met you. If you have brought me trouble, you have also brought me the respect of a king who, before, thought me a necessary evil. Anduin is a Priest, a creature of the Light. My entire existence has left him uneasy. I was nothing more than the bearer of bad news, the dagger that he was occasionally forced to use."

With a sigh, Mathias shook his head. "Today? Today, because of you, Anduin doesn't see me as a tool. He sees me as a man, as a _friend_ , as someone he can trust. He's come to value me enough that he wants me to live long enough to retire." Mathias couldn't even begin to address how that felt, that Anduin _cared_. "You… Flynn, my grandmother eventually retired, but I never honestly expected to live long enough to see that day myself. I never had a reason to. My entire existence was to be a weapon and one that was resented and mistrusted. But you're here. _You_ are reason enough for me to want that now. When you're here and I have someone to come home to…"

Flynn covered Mathias's lips with his fingertips. "Mathias. I believe you now." He kissed Mathias, slow and sweet and deep and tasting of rum.

***

The kiss lasted long minutes, with Flynn's head spinning from the rum. There were moments when he thought that he and Mathias were equally surprised by each other, neither of them quite willing to believe that someone loved them that much. At this point Flynn knew himself to be hopelessly lost in his matelot. The man was a riptide, deadly, that you could only see if you knew what you were looking for. Flynn wanted to drown in him, to be dragged under and never surface.

He'd promised to tell Mathias. Promised to explain. Some of it had come out at the trial, and the lawyers and judges had savaged him. He was lucky that the details of the trial would never come out, but the fact that Romano had been there in the room, had witnessed it, cut Flynn to the bone. He worried that some things -- not the gold, not how the _Despair_ had been destroyed, but details about Flynn's own life as a pirate -- would make it to ears that didn't have Mathias's interests, or his safety at heart.

And so Flynn would have to safeguard him, have to tell him the worst, so that it couldn't blindside him, couldn't be used against either of them. But he couldn't start with that. He curled himself around Mathias, his head resting on his lover's shoulder, eyes closed. He sighed as Mathias held him close. When had he ever had this? Warmth like this? He never wanted to lose it, and so he'd have to start slow, to start small.

To start at the beginning.


	2. Dampwick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a brief non-graphic description of rape.

After she was gone, there was nothing.

Flynn had no home. There were other Fairwinds scattered around Kul Tiras, that much he knew, but not a one of them to claim him. No one for the child of a woman who'd been hung as a thief. No one for a fatherless, motherless boy of seven. He spent a month in one of the orphanages in Boralus before he ran away, unable to take the bad food and the beatings, the pitying looks of the Matrons, and the assumption that he was and would always be nothing.

Starving and alone, it wasn't long before he fell in with one of the gangs. There were other kids to talk to. The adults promised food and shelter, but they rarely actually gave it. If the food and the beatings were no better than the orphanage, at least he had his freedom. 

Freedom to sleep under stairways or in the lee of a door, to curl up in a warehouse somewhere when the guards weren't looking. He learned to pick a pocket and climb a wall, to watch, to be a distraction. He learned the value of a copper and that it paid to carry a dagger, and not to let the men who ran the gang know it.

He learned that there were men who liked a pretty child, and the horror of being the pretty one.

Flynn's life was misery and desperation and the knowledge that he was prey, and that he would stay that way until he got old enough to fight back. Until then, he just had to survive.

Sometimes he saw people reading. There were papers posted on the walls around Dampwick, but he never knew what they said. The little shapes never made sense, but he remembered his mother reading to him sometimes, at night, her voice in the dim light of the hearth. He missed her. He wondered what it would be like to know what those papers said, because he knew they said something. He knew sometimes the things they said were important. He wanted to know. He wasn't sure how to learn it, but he swore to himself that he would.

There was an innkeeper named Bernby who didn't mind Flynn being there, so when he wasn't under the eye of one of the watchers, he'd go to get out of the rain, or to warm himself by the hearth fire and listen to people sing or tell stories. Sometimes Bernby would let Flynn have something to eat; there was a menu and even though Flynn had no idea what it said, he'd point to something and Bernby would bring it to him. Eventually he figured out that the words on the pages were the names of the food, and the shapes of the symbols. What sounds those shapes made and how they fit together. He was well aware he didn't know all the shapes yet, but armed with a few words, a few sounds, a few shapes, he set out to understand the other words written on the papers of the city's walls.

Once, Flynn stole a little book from someone's bag. He managed to keep it hidden for months before the gang found it and took it from him. It was a story about a sailor, and there were a lot of words Flynn didn't understand, but he could at least make the sounds of most of them. Now and then he'd try asking someone what one or another of the words meant, and sometimes the person would tell him. Flynn always remembered the new words, so each time he read the story again, it made more sense. Sometimes knowing those new words made other ones make sense as well, and it felt like a kind of magic.

It made Flynn long for something more than muddy streets and pocket picking, more than beatings and abuse and the foul breath of the men who used him, not caring if they hurt him when they did. He wanted more than anger and fear and starvation. The book mentioned a cabin boy, and Flynn thought maybe he could do that. If he could find a ship, maybe he'd have a better life than this.

There was no way to escape, though. Not yet. Aside from his hours in Bernby's inn and the time he was able to spend reading, Flynn didn't know where to go. If he went to the docks, surely he'd be followed or found. There were sailors everywhere, and ships, and the little rowboats that people took to get from one part of Boralus to another, but Flynn didn't know much about them. The few times he tried approaching the ships, he was chased off, with curses and shouts. They assumed, he thought, that he was just there to steal from them. The only thing Flynn really wanted to steal was his own life, to take it from the gang and have it for himself.

As he got older, he'd hide near the ships and listen to the sailors and the officers talk about ports in faraway places. On the mainland, in other parts of Kul Tiras, of islands and the strange creatures that lived there. A lot of the sailors, the merchants, talked of a place in Tiragarde Sound called Freehold, and it sounded like the kind of place Flynn might find his own freedom. Merchants from all over the world called there, but there were freebooters and pirates and who knew what else. Nobody asked questions, and ships were always looking for crew, they said.

It took him weeks to ask the right questions -- where Freehold was, how to get there, what lay between -- without arousing too many suspicions. He didn't want anyone to know what he was planning. There really wasn't a way for him to get out of Dampwick in the direction of Mariner's Row unseen; it meant going up toward Proudmoore Keep, and he'd never make it over the bridges and through Upton Borough.

The winter was coming on, and rain pelted down. Most folks with sense had stayed inside if they'd had the choice, but Flynn didn't. Gordo was the worst of the watchers in the gang, tall and thin, with a temper like a starving seagull. He was missing half his teeth from bar fights and looked to be eager to lose the rest at some point.

"You've not brought enough coin, boy." His vicious little grey eyes narrowed, and Flynn knew where it was going to end up tonight.

"There was nobody out." He gestured though the half-open door into the freezing rain. "Even the wharf rats aren't about, Gordo, and I couldn't pick their pockets if they were, cuz rats don't have pockets."

Gordo reached for him. "Don't you sass me, you little piece of shit." Flynn tried to duck him but couldn't. Gordo had a long reach and a grip like iron and the next thing Flynn knew, he'd had his face slammed into the wall, bloodying his nose. "Get back out there and bring some more coin, and don't think of scarpering off. I've an eye on you."

And so Flynn went back out into the wind and the rain for another three hours, with Gordo ghosting along behind him under the shelter of eaves or doorways, or the gangways that were strung between buildings on the upper floors. He managed to grab another three coins without being caught, but it was all copper, not a single silver to be had.

Finally, Flynn gave up. Angry, soaked, and freezing, he went back to the gang's house. The place smelled of wet blankets and mold and food that Flynn couldn't have. Gordo followed him in, pushing up close behind him. "You're worthless, kid," the man snorted. "Only good for one thing, really." 

Gordo dragged him to the upper floor and into his room; it was tiny but there was a door to the upper walkways in it. It wasn't really a room but more a pass-through with Gordo's bed in it. And so, Flynn ended the night with his pants around his knees and his worst nightmare at his back, grunting and huffing. And Flynn had finally grown enough that when Gordo was done and half passed out from it, Flynn did up his pants and pulled the dagger he'd been hiding in his coat for all this time and he stabbed Gordo in the neck with all the vicious fury his nearly-ten year old body could muster.

Gordo made barely a sound, just a gurgle and an _urk_ and suddenly there was blood everywhere. There was more blood than Flynn imagined could be in someone's body and it gouted out like a waterspout. Flynn was too shocked to scream, which was a good thing, because that would have brought other gang members running. Stunned, Flynn stood still for a moment, catching his breath. Once the dizziness passed, he dug around in Gordo's clothes and the little chest under his bed and stuffed anything he could carry into his pockets; Flynn bolted out the upper door and ran, leaving bloody footprints everywhere.

He was covered with Gordo's blood but, in the rain, it was hard to tell. If they found him, they'd kill him. He couldn't run anywhere in Dampwick that they couldn't find him and, bloody like this, it would be even worse to try to leave the Ward. Flynn ran for the water, staying as hidden as he could. For the first time that horrible night, he blessed the rain.

When he got to the docks, he found a rowboat tied off on one of the chocks. With a frantic look around, he found the oars, leaning up against a wall, and he grabbed them and put them into the locks. The tide was low enough that he could row under the docks, and he hoped to avoid being seen.

Bridgeport. He'd heard that Bridgeport, outside of Boralus beyond Mariner's Row, was where the road started that would lead to Freehold. Soaked and shivering, Flynn put his back into it. Crossing the channel between Dampwick and Mariner's Row was the riskiest part, where he'd be most visible, but the weather was foul and he doubted the guards were keeping watch for anything as small and insignificant as a rowboat with the rain pouring down and the wind gusting. The little boat nearly swamped when he got to mid-channel, but he finally crossed and slid under the docks of Mariner's Row, following the line of them along. He could see the island with what he thought was Stormsong Monastery off to his starboard.

Finally, slowly, he got to the end of Mariner's Row and he saw the shore approaching outside the city's walls. It didn't look like Bridgeport was there. Maybe it was further away than he thought.

He got to the shore and dragged the rowboat up, turning it so that he could shelter under it while he tried to collect himself. It would at least keep the rain off him for a little while, and he'd be safe until near dawn, but he'd have to be moving before it got light.

By feel, he went through the items he'd got from Gordo and it seemed he had enough coppers and silver to be worth about three gold. There was a candle, and some matches in a waterproof box. He'd got a bigger dagger than the one he'd stabbed Gordo with, and that was likely to be useful. He'd taken a scarf as well, but it was just as soaked as he was. He hoped that the rain and the salt water had washed most of the blood off him, but he'd not know for sure until daylight came.

Finally, terrified and shivering, he tried to sleep under the shelter of the boat.

***

Mathias held Flynn in horrified silence as Flynn said, "It took me over two weeks to even find Freehold from there. Got lost and turned around I don't know how many times. I didn't have a map and, at that point, I wouldn't have known what to do with it, even if I did." Flynn shrugged.

"How did you survive?" Mathias asked, still trying to get himself through the shock of what had happened to his matelot as a child.

"I stole food whenever I found a place that had some. While I knew how to make a fire, I didn't know how to cook. I didn't realize at first that you had to gut an animal the same way you gutted a fish before you put it on the fire. It was horrible. Tasted like literal shit. I puked for hours." Mathias rubbed Flynn's back. Though he seemed calm, he was trembling slightly, and Mathias wanted to ease that stress. "I didn't dare try anything green. I was a city kid, and I don't think I'd ever seen a vegetable that wasn't in a stew at that point. It didn't even register as food. I figured it was all poisonous or something. Poison is green, right?"

"Some of them are, yes," Mathias agreed. He nuzzled into Flynn's hair, breathing in his warmth.

Flynn tilted his head from Mathias's shoulder and kissed him, soft and brief. "I know this is upsetting, love, but it was twenty five years or so ago. Romano and the rest are right; I came from nothing. I've got nothing to offer you except a little amusement and my stunning good looks."

"That's not even remotely true, Flynn. You give me more than you can possibly understand." Mathias's heart ached. "And look where you are today, what you've made of yourself. When I was told that you'd taught yourself to read, I didn't think they meant--"

Flynn snorted. "What, you can't imagine that I'd actually been to _school_ , right? I don't know what they were doing with orphans in Stormwind back then, but Boralus? Nobody gave a shit, mate. I figure they expected us all to wash dishes or haul crates or something, if we were lucky. Can't imagine they saw any need for any of us to learn our letters."

"I… I honestly wasn't sure what I imagined." He sighed and shook his head. "You killed him. When you were nine. You'd had no training, no experience, you just… stabbed him."

Flynn shrugged. "I was lucky enough to kill him instead of wound him, at least. Could have gone pretty badly for me otherwise. Bloody disgusting, though. Literally."

He could hardly believe Flynn was just shrugging it off. "Flynn, you were younger than I was the first time I killed a man, and I'd been trained for it my entire childhood."

"It was a shock, yeah," Flynn murmured. "Not a thing I'd wanted to repeat, but he was only the first. I wasn't like you -- someone else in complete control of your life, turning you into a weapon. At least I had a choice about something. At least I could run."

By that point, Mathias honestly wasn't sure which of them had had it worse. He was leaning toward Flynn, because at least he'd never dealt with that kind of abuse. "Sometimes, you have nightmares," he said. "Is that…?"

"Once in a while. Other things, though, mostly."

Other things. Worse things. Light, what had happened to him? "Flynn," Mathias whispered.

"I'm all right, Mathias," Flynn said, obviously not all right.

"Is there anything I can do?" He held Flynn closer.

Flynn shook his head. "I don't think so. Just… just be here. Just listen. This is… it's like my mother. It's stuff I've never told anyone. Not that there had ever been anyone I _could_ tell, before you. Or anyone who'd want to listen."

Mathias nodded, heart aching. "If that's what you need, that's what I'll do. I'm just… when we're… together… is…" Mathias took a harsh breath. "Does it ever bother you?"

"No." A breath later, Flynn realized what Mathias was actually asking. " _No,_ Mathias. Never, you've never. We've never done anything I didn't want. You've never hurt me. You would _never._ "

Flynn took a rough breath and continued. "I mean, it was years before I even wanted anyone to touch me again, but when I did, when I had a choice, I realized that I enjoyed it. Men, women, whatever, it's never mattered to me. I like a hard cock or a wet cunny and it just doesn't matter. Come to think of it, I don't really care if they're human or not, either. Well, okay, maybe not Forsaken; they smell bad and I'd be kind of worried about… bits falling off." Mathias's eyes widened but Flynn rattled right along. "Death Knights, now, they tend to hold together a bit better and… well, let's not go there, you look a bit disturbed by the whole idea." 

Mathias nodded. "I'll admit, the concept has never set well with me."

"That and the drink made a lot of the other stuff… less hard to cope with, I suppose. And honestly? It's fun. Fucking feels good. As long as it's what everyone wants, it's all good. I love being with you. I love what we do with each other. And, while I know you occasionally want to strangle me -- the feeling is mutual, by the way -- it's never been about that."

"I'm relieved to hear it." Even the thought that he might have hurt Flynn in that way appalled him. The world was a cruel place. He'd known, in an abstract way, that something of the sort had happened to Flynn, and that it was why he'd fought to bring Billie out of Boralus, but the raw descriptions of what the man had dealt with were much more difficult to hear than he'd imagined.

It left Mathias wanting to murder people who'd been dead for decades. But Flynn wasn't in need of a rescue, just of shelter and comfort. Someone to listen, someone to try to understand. And Mathias could be that for him, wanted to be that for him. It didn't feel adequate.

"I can hear you thinking," Flynn murmured. "It's sort of like gnomish machines churning and clanking."

"It's getting late. That might just be something happening in the Dwarven District."

"Nope. Nope. Overthinking. It's a familiar sound these days. You get quiet and then everything that's bothering you starts to churn in your head." He tapped Mathias's forehead with a fingertip. "Unfortunately, what's bothering you right now is stuff from the past that you don't have any control over. Stabbing things isn't going to help, love. You can't just stab the past. I mean, there are certainly times when I'd love to be able to. Some of my past needs a good stabbing." Flynn sighed. "Won't work. Blotting it out with booze doesn't, either. Tried that way too many times. Massive failure."

"Maybe Steelspark can come up with some kind of past-stabbing gadget," Mathias said, half a smile on his face. Flynn was starting to reach for humor again. Perhaps a little absurdity might help the process.

"Hmm." Flynn sounded uncertain. "But would it involve going back to the past to stab it? Because I don't think that sounds any fun. Probably best to do it from here. Long-distance stabbing."

"I don't know. We tried that whole past-stabbing thing on Draenor. I can't say it was much of a success. While I wouldn't mind stabbing certain individuals from your past for you, perhaps it's not that great an idea after all."

Flynn sighed. "Your heart's in the right place, Mathias, but you're right. Very impractical. Not to mention the potential of severely screwing the present. I'm guessing we'd best leave it as it is and just try to keep moving forward." He ran the tip of one finger over Mathias's moustache. "I think the best part of this present lark is that I have you." He smiled. "You know, for stabbing things."

"I will gladly put a dagger in anything that needs it on your behalf. With vigor. And also enthusiasm."

Flynn nuzzled him, nose to nose. "You say the sweetest things."

Mathias chuckled. "I'm told it's part of my charm."

"Well, I can certainly agree with that."


	3. Freehold

Freehold lay below Flynn in the distance, both larger and smaller than he'd imagined. There were so many ships berthed there, with sails and flying colors from more places than he had ever heard of. He was filthy and starving, but the sails gave him a spark of hope and lifted his heart. Maybe… maybe he had a chance here.

He'd turned ten, he thought, a few days ago. He couldn't be sure what the date was. He'd lost track Tides knew how long ago, but it was about the right time of the year at least. Ten. He could tell people he was ten. Nobody would know the difference and they'd probably not really care anyway.

While he was filthy, he at least wasn't covered in blood any longer. He'd managed to wash it out of his clothes and off his skin. There was no soap, but there'd been sand and scrubbing, and that worked well enough. He'd not look like a miniature murderer when he entered the place. That was what he was now, though, and he'd still not really come to terms with it, even though he was just defending himself.

With the coins in his pocket, he could maybe buy himself something to eat and some clothes that weren't rags before he started going to the ships to see if he could sign up. A city that size, there must be somewhere that would have clothes he could buy. He hoped he had enough coins. Or maybe he could steal something off somebody's laundry line; it would be cheaper and there'd be more money for food. His boots were worn through and the mud and water leaked into them all the time, and you couldn't just swipe those from the washing.

He was watched on his way into the town, but no one tried to stop him from entering. It took most of the day to find clothes that would fit him -- trousers and boots were the problem. He could wear an oversized tunic easily enough, after all, but if your pants fell down all the time, that would be an embarrassment. Not that much embarrassed Flynn. Scared him? Yes, there were still things that scared him, absolutely, but he had little in the way of shame. If you were cold and starving, shame didn't do a Tides-damned thing for you.

Finally, with a little food in his belly, slightly loose pants belted so they'd stay up, boots that more or less fit, and an oversized tunic around him, he went down to the docks. There'd not been enough coin for a greatcoat, or even a scarf, because the boots had cost so much, so he'd had to keep the one he'd stolen from Gordo's body and his ratty, threadbare greatcoat that was getting too small for him. He'd hoped to get rid of the scarf, to throw the reminder away, but being able to eat for a few days was more important. Maybe later he'd have enough for one, and a better coat.

He spent the evening looking at the ships, watching who came and went. Some were merchants, and they'd likely call at Boralus at some point. Flynn thought it might be a bad idea for him to show his face there, so he decided not to try it at all. Others were privateers and pirates. He recognized a few of the ensigns they flew from the stories people told on the docks back in Dampwick Ward. Some of them, he knew, were worse than others. Flynn just wanted something that was going to give him a warm bunk and something to eat, where he'd not be treated like the gangs had treated him.

He thought if he looked for crews where not everyone was Kul Tiran, maybe life would be different. He was sure that the crew would have interesting stories, at least. He didn't make a decision that night, but slept in a little hollow under a stairway, out of sight. The next day, he went back to the docks.

One ship seemed to have a crew that got on well together. There were more smiles than shouts, though it looked like everyone was working hard. Flynn wasn't sure what that would be like. His 'work' had been stealing and watching out for guards. He could climb the rigging, though, he was sure. It had to be easier than climbing walls.

Finally, nervous, Flynn decided to just put a good face on and go for it. He approached the ship and called, "Ahoy!" 

The woman at the top of the gangplank looked down at him. "What do you want, kid?"

"I'm looking for work," Flynn said. "Do you need a cabin boy?"

She laughed. "We've got one, but he's getting a bit old for it now."

"Do you think I could sign on?" A tiny spark of hope flared in his chest.

"You ever been to sea, kid?" She stood with her arms crossed over her chest.

Flynn would have tried to lie his way into it, but he knew the first time somebody gave an order, he'd have no idea what to do. "Only in a rowboat," he admitted.

The woman laughed again. "It's good you didn't lie about it. I'd have sent you off with a boot in your ass if you'd said yes, at your age. Do you know your letters and numbers?"

Flynn nodded. "Aye, that I do."

She gestured to him. "Come aboard, Red. We'll have someone put that to the test. If you do, we might have a place for you."

Red. She had to mean his hair. It was long and scruffy and auburn and he kept it tied back out of his eyes with a strip of cloth ripped from his old shirt. With a nod, Flynn trotted up the gangplank. "Thanks, ma'am."

"Copperscrew! I need you!" A gnome looked up from where he was shifting some small crates. He had blue hair and a wild beard and mustache, and he wore spectacles. He nodded and joined them.

"Boatswain," he said. He looked at Flynn. "What have we here?"

"Kid says he knows his letters and numbers. Wants to be a cabin boy. Take him below and see if he's telling me the truth."

The gnome nodded and patted Flynn's arm. "Come on, kid." Flynn followed him. They went below and Flynn looked around him at everything, curious. The gnome led him into a little office and pointed at a chair. "Sit there." Flynn did and Copperscrew went to a small shelf of books with a bar across it. He thought it was to keep them from falling out if the weather was rough.

Copperscrew pulled a book off the shelf then came and stood on a chair next to Flynn, dropping the book on the table in front of him. "So, you know your letters. Read some of this to me."

Flynn read the title to him. "Basic Seamanship," he said. The gnome nodded. Flynn opened it to the first page and slowly, carefully read it out, stumbling a little over words he wasn't familiar with, until the gnome stopped him. 

"Okay, you can read. Can you write?" He dragged a scrap of paper, a quill, and a little inkpot across the table and set them in front of Flynn.

"What do you want me to write?" he asked.

"You just write what I say. Don't worry, I'll speak slowly. You should be able to follow along." The gnome started talking and, while Flynn didn't think he spelled everything quite properly, and his letters weren't very neat, you could read them. The gnome nodded again. "Very good. Now let's check your numbers."

"I'm not quite so good with those," Flynn admitted.

"I just need to know if you can add and subtract," Copperscrew said. He scribbled some numbers on the sheet. "Do those figures if you can." Flynn looked at them. The smaller numbers he could do. Some of them he had to count on his fingers for. The longer numbers were harder, but he tried anyway. It took him longer than the reading and the writing. "Hmm, you do need a little work on this, but it's not bad."

"Do you think she'll take me on?" Flynn asked.

Copperscrew shook his head. "It's not the Boatswain's decision. We'll need to take it to the Captain. But you've got past the first test."

"There's tests?" Flynn asked, worried. 

"It's not much for a cabin boy," Copperscrew told him. "Nobody will expect you to know much of anything about ships to start, really. Showing up here, dressed like you are, you have to be running from something." Flynn's eyes widened, uneasy. "That's not important. If the Captain takes you on, you'll learn what you need to as you go along. You just need to be able to take orders and do as you're told, and you have to be willing to help with whatever comes up."

Flynn nodded. "I can do that." He thought for a moment. "They don't… do people hurt you here, for no reason?"

The gnome looked him up and down. "If you disobey, you might get the lash or spend time in the brig. People will likely test you to find out your temper. If you keep your head down and do as you're told, though, it won't take long before you're accepted as one of the crew. You'll need to be able to take a joke. Sign on with us, and you get a hammock, and at least two meals a day. Cabin boy gets a half share of any treasure, and a regular, if small, pay packet. Can you swim?"

"Is there a Kul Tiran who doesn't?" Flynn asked.

Copperscrew shrugged. "I've yet to meet one." He hopped back down to the deck. "Come on."

They made their way back up to the main deck of the ship. "He reads and writes well enough. Needs some work on his numbers, but he's passable. Says he can swim and I'm inclined to believe him."

The Boatswain nodded. "Charlie!" she bellowed. A boy of about fifteen came running from the quarterdeck.

"Aye, Boatswain?" He eyed Flynn suspiciously.

"Take the kid to Captain Longbeard. He wants to be a cabin boy. If the Captain wants him, you might finally get to be an Able Seaman yet."

Charlie grinned. "Aye aye!" He grabbed Flynn by the elbow. "Come with me." As he tugged Flynn along, Charlie said, "I really hope the Captain'll take you. I'm sick of being the cabin boy. I want to be a real part of the crew and get a full share."

"Is it hard, being a cabin boy?"

Charlie shook his head. "Nah. You fetch and carry. You learn the lines. They teach you knots and the names of everything. You look like a lubber. You'll probably get seasick the first time we hit a squall and they'll tease you til the Tidemother rises from the waters, but if you make it through your first voyage, you should be fine. A few years, and you'll be a full member of the crew, too." He knocked on a cabin door. "Captain Longbeard!"

"Come." The voice was gruff, and on the other side of the door was a dwarf with greying blond hair and a long, braided blond beard, sitting at a desk flipping through a stack of paper. He looked up. "What have we here?"

"Boatswain says this kid wants to be a cabin boy. You think maybe I can be an Able Seaman now, sir?"

Longbeard snorted. "Well, I've not talked to the lad yet, have I? Get out, Charlie. I'll see if he'll suit and I'll let you know."

Charlie nodded. "Aye, sir." He hurried out, shutting the door behind him. Flynn stood, nervous, in front of the dwarf.

"Well, kid, what's your name?" The Captain looked at him with sharp blue eyes.

"Flynn Fairwind, Captain."

The Captain raised an eyebrow. "Fairwind, eh? A lucky name, that."

It hadn't ever been much luck for Flynn but he wasn't going to contradict. "So they say, Captain."

"Tell me, why are you here? This is a pirate vessel, kid. It's dangerous work. It's not some bloody romance novel. There'll be theft and crime and blood. If you can't stomach the idea that someone's like to die at some point, and you might be the one to kill them, leave now."

Flynn sighed, looking at the deck as he spoke. "I grew up in Dampwick Ward, picking pockets for the gangs. I killed a man there a couple of weeks ago because he hurt me. It was a lot more blood than I expected. I couldn't stay there, though. Not after that. The guard would surely kill me if the gang didn't. I couldn't go on a trader that would be making port there and take the chance that someone might recognize me."

The Captain stood from his desk and walked over to Flynn, resting one broad hand on his shoulder. "Ah, Fairwind, your story's not so unusual as you might think. There's not a man or a woman on this crew who hasn't killed at least once. You're young to be starting on that path and if you'd not had a history like that I'd have likely sent you away. But tell me, what brought you to _my_ ship?"

Flynn looked at the dwarf. He was tall enough at ten that he didn't have to look up at him. "The crew, sir." Longbeard's head tilted. "They were talking to each other as they worked. Smiling. Laughing with each other. I watched a lot of the ships in port yesterday, and there were too many of them where people shouted at each other. The crews looked angry or tired, or some of them looked like they were looking for a chance to run. I had too much of that in Dampwick. I didn't want to walk from the cooking pot into the fire."

Longbeard nodded. "You've a good head on your shoulders, Fairwind. You're sharp and you know how to look at things. I take it Copperscrew's already seen that you can read and write and you know your numbers?"

"Aye, Captain. He has. When I came aboard, the Boatswain sent me to him."

"You willing to work? Willing to learn how a ship functions? Willing to take up a dagger or a cutlass and defend your crew when we capture a ship for its treasure?" Flynn nodded. "You'll be expected to work with anyone who needs you. You'll carry messages around the ship, or meals to people on watch who can't leave their post. You'll need to learn to run the rigging, so you can't be afraid of heights."

"I ran the roofs of Dampwick, Captain. I can climb walls and ropes just as easy as stairs. I can pick a lock or a pocket. I've a good memory, and I've been in my share of brawls. I'm not keen to kill anyone for no reason, but I'll sure as the Tides defend myself. I have a dagger and I can use it right enough."

"Then welcome aboard, Mister Fairwind. Your first task is to go find Charlie and bring him back here. He'll be best pleased that he's not the low man on the crew anymore." Longbeard smiled at him and patted his shoulder. "Send Charlie to me then report to the cook to help make lunch."

"Aye aye, Captain!" Flynn grinned, thrilled that he'd done it. He'd got out of Dampwick and found himself a ship!

***

Flynn made Able Seaman by the time he was thirteen, a quick study and a steady hand with the lines. He learned as much as he could about everything on the ship and worked with as many of the professions as he could. He sailed with Longbeard for about four years, until the captaincy changed, and the character of the crew changed with the character of her captain.

Unlike Longbeard, the new captain was bloodthirsty. When he ransomed his victims, he'd take a hand or an eye and send it to the family or the trading company, in hopes of terrifying money out of them, and Flynn just couldn't stay after that. He saw no reason for that sort of heartless, senseless cruelty. He wanted gold as much as the next pirate, but that sort of thing was too much for what conscience he had.

Flynn was shipwrecked twice, but lived to tell the tale when many others didn't. He was flogged for not being able to keep his mouth shut; Flynn knew he was smart, and too often he thought he knew better than the person who was ordering him about. Sometimes, it turned out, it was even true. Flynn was a cocky young man, and a good looking one. He could tempt a man or a woman in any port at all and, hey, if it was more than one at a time? Well, that was a lot of fun, too. While sometimes he shared a bunk with a shipmate, he tended to leave that to others. When things inevitably fell apart, it made for bad blood among the crew, and you didn't want to be working with them after.

By the time he was twenty five, he'd learned the basics of every position and profession on a ship. He made a good carpenter's mate, though it wasn't his favorite thing. He could repair a sail as well as rig one. He could navigate by the stars and keep the ship's books. He'd learned to read a chart, and to make one. He'd been a shantyman and a ship's cook. He could read the water and have an idea of its depth, and he had a Kul Tiran's sense of the tides. He'd worked with people from all over Azeroth and made friends along the way. Everyone knew Flynn Fairwind would be a captain someday, and he dreamed of having his own ship. 

Flynn's life as a pirate taught him the value of good guns and better steel. He knew the value of a loyal crew, and what happened when they weren't. He learned that some things needed stabbing, while others did much better if you applied a bit of charm. He'd killed his share of men, and helped send ships to Neptulon. He was no better than anyone else in the crews he sailed with, but the killing always bothered him when it wasn't strictly necessary. 

He'd seen mutinies grow in a discontented crew, and even participated in one once, when the captain was too cruel to his own people for Flynn to countenance. It had been a night of blood and adrenaline. The vicious, spiteful bastard who'd been their captain was begging for his life before a crew fed up with bad food and short shares and more punishment than any impertinence had ever warranted. Flynn hadn't been sorry to see the man gutted and thrown to the sharks.

He sailed with smugglers as well as pirates, and had a brief and acrimonious fling with Serrie Keelson of the _Maiden's Virtue_. Their parting ended with Flynn at the wrong end of a pistol, and she'd threatened to keel haul him the next time she saw him, if she didn't just kill him first.

At twenty eight Flynn became the Boatswain on a pirate ship called the _Raven's Wing_ , and a year later, he was elected her captain.

***

"You talked about some of those incidents in court," Mathias said. Flynn had curled up into himself in one corner of the couch as he spoke, withdrawing from Mathias as the story went on. "Sending someone's eye…" Mathias shuddered, not wanting to think of Flynn being the captive of such a captain, of receiving one of Flynn's eyes, or his hand along with the ransom demand. He'd have gone mad, he thought. Not a one of Hayaji's crew would have survived if they'd harmed Flynn like that. Nothing would have stopped him.

Flynn nodded. "It wasn't the worst of it, but… well… Harlan Sweete happened." He took a shuddering breath. "I'm going to need more rum for that one. A lot more rum."

Mathias nodded and scooped the empty glass from where he'd left it on the floor next to the sofa. He got up and poured a substantial amount of the remaining rum into it and brought it back to Flynn, sitting close as his matelot drank, hasty and deep.

Flynn had to stop to pant for breath when he finished the glass, and Mathias took it from his trembling hand. He brushed his fingers through Flynn's hair in a gentle caress that he hoped would be reassuring. The man's eyes were bleary and he blinked several times. "Flynn?"

"Harlan was… a piece of work. A maniac. There wasn't a sane bone in his body, but I couldn't see that at first. He had me fooled for the longest time. I need more rum." 

Mathias got him another. He knew people who were capable of that sort of thing; they were far too common. From Flynn's tales of his past, his swift rise through the ranks, and all the things Mathias knew him to be capable of, he could see more now of just how intelligent the man was, how much he'd been hiding, even from Mathias himself. He knew Flynn the competent Captain, Flynn the cartographer, Flynn, the man who could summarize and analyze a twenty page legal contract in under two minutes. He'd seen Flynn navigate between continents with nothing but the stars and a compass to guide him. Flynn was good with people and had an instinct for charm and diversion, but was also entirely capable of inspiring deep loyalty in people who were that way inclined. 

He'd inspired a fierce and unyielding loyalty in Mathias himself, and something even more rare and precious -- genuine love.

"Some people are experts at hiding themselves as they prepare to strike, Flynn. They're snakes. Even the most intelligent people fall to them." Mathias himself had done it as part of his work, and more than once, but that was business, not madness. Not deliberate cruelty.

"Snake. Yeah. That's a good word for him." Flynn shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. "Slimy, venomous, psychopathic snake."

"From what I understand, he's dead." Mathias slid an arm around him.

Flynn nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, he is. Some champions went in and dealt with him; I couldn't. The bastard nearly killed me last time he had his hands on me. It was too close." He leaned into Mathias. "Good riddance to him. The world's a better place without that son of a bitch."


	4. Sweete Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> non graphic mention of rape in this chapter  
> the verse Flynn quotes is the Azerothan William Shakespeare from The Tempest

When Flynn hired Harlan Sweete aboard the _Raven's Wing_ , he'd been in need of a new Boatswain. He'd lost Quedena and a few other people during their last battle -- a hard fight against an Admiralty ship who'd seen them and come after them -- and they couldn't go back to sea without one. Sweete was short and round and seemed competent enough. Flynn had talked to the captain of one of the other crews Sweete said he'd worked with, as the ship was in port. "Ambitious," the captain had said. "Ambitious and a little too full of himself, but he knows his business. He has a good nose for gold."

Their next voyage had them chasing down a merchantman along the coast of the Broken Isles. They'd fought, but the _Raven's Wing_ had taken most of the crew prisoner and Flynn was arranging a ransom for them. They'd sail the merchant ship with a skeleton crew to the next free port and sell her; she would bring a lot of gold. Sweete and some of the new crew members had been a little more vicious during the battle than Flynn had liked, but done was done, so he'd had to let it slide. What a man did when they were toe to toe with a bloke trying to kill them was part of freebooting.

Looking back on it, Flynn should have seen the signs of trouble. He'd been below when he heard screams coming from the brig. He ran for it, only to find that Starlin, one of the new blokes, was raping one of their prisoners, and he snapped. In a rage, he dragged the man off her, bellowing curses the entire time. Half a dozen of his crew came running.

"Marita, take this poor lass and get her a bath and some clean clothes, then bring her up to the main deck." Marita wrapped the weeping woman in a blanket and did as he said.

He turned to the others who had gathered, his hand around the rapist's throat. Starlin struggled, dragging at Flynn's wrist, but Flynn wasn't letting go. "The rest of you lot, I want all hands on deck _now._ I will not tolerate an abomination like this on my ship, and I will have every damned one of you see what happens to the bastard who tries it."

Everyone ran, and Flynn dragged Starlin out of the brig up to the main deck. Sweete watched him, saying nothing.

When Flynn got to the main deck, he kicked the man's leg out from under him. He heard the knee joint crunch, but he didn't care. Everyone assembled, shocked, and watched as Flynn just kept kicking the man, until he was lying in a trembling heap at Flynn's feet.

Flynn's rage was unquenchable. He'd had enough of that shit when he was a boy, and he never wanted anyone else to suffer that kind of pain and humiliation. Death? It was a thing that happened. Everybody died eventually. But there was no inevitability about something like this. Nobody should have to suffer it.

When Marita brought the woman up to the main deck, he turned his attention from kicking Starlin to her. "That should never have happened to you," he said. "I don't stand for that on this ship."

She said nothing, but he hadn't expected her to, really. Poor thing was shaking like a leaf and he doubted what he had planned would make her feel any better, but he needed a graphic, pointed demonstration and, maybe someday, she'd sleep a little easier for it. Maybe Flynn would, too.

The entire crew watched as Flynn bent down and dragged Starlin to his feet. "I will not tolerate rape on this ship," Flynn snarled. He glared at the crew. "I won't tolerate it on land, either, and if I hear so much as a _rumor_ that you're doing it when you're ashore, I will _end_ you. If you don't think you can keep it in your trousers, you will leave at our next port of call and don't ever look back." He glared into Starlin's terrified eyes as he hung limp from his fist. "You're no better than a fucking animal. You don't deserve better than an animal's fate."

Flynn drew his dagger and gutted the man, then dragged him, bleeding and screaming, to the railing and threw him overboard. Furious and covered in blood, Flynn turned to his crew. " _Never_ challenge me on this. _You will lose._ Do I make myself clear?"

The crew, shocked, all said "aye" or "yes sir" or something of the sort. And Sweete watched, his eyes narrowed.

Flynn went to clean himself up, noting with satisfaction that sharks were already gathering around the man he'd flung overboard.

*** 

Things changed aboard the _Raven's Wing_ after that. Every woman on the crew seemed to rest easier, to look at him with a little more respect. They'd lost four men at the next port, and Flynn was just as happy to see the back of them.

There were those, though, that didn't seem too happy with Flynn's discipline. Sweete told him that there were some who thought he'd been too harsh, that he should have given Starlin a second chance. As though raping a prisoner were some kind of easily-made mistake, and not a deliberate choice. As though the man hadn't been getting his pleasure from the terror of someone powerless and unable to fight back. As though it would be in any way acceptable for Flynn to just let it pass without laying down the law. Freebooter or not, there were some lines a man should never cross, and that was one of them.

The captain Flynn had asked about Sweete had been right. The little guy was ambitious. He was constantly pushing Flynn to take on bigger, richer, more important targets. But Flynn knew the _Raven's_ capabilities, and what her crew could handle. You couldn't go too big, risk too much. And it wasn't just the targets themselves, but the consistency of them, and the locations. He'd had to fight the Admiralty before, but that had been the authorities happening on them, not the _Raven_ being hunted.

The last thing Flynn wanted was for his ship to be a high profile target.

A few months after the Starlin incident, Flynn's First Mate Esinelia didn't return by the time they raised the gangplank. It happened sometimes, though not usually with a high ranking officer. She'd been with him since poor Arva and the harpoon incident, and he really thought she'd stay. That she'd not even said anything worried him. Flynn was left a hand short, and needed a new first mate. The crew, by a narrow margin, elected Sweete to the post. Too many, Flynn thought, were listening to his agitation about taking more prizes.

Discipline on the _Raven_ got more difficult, as well, and Flynn started hearing that he'd approved things he'd never have allowed. Sometimes the crew would question his orders, and he'd hear later that Sweete had apparently told them Flynn had wanted it done another way, or that he'd requested something he hadn't. Sweete himself was more fond of the lash than Flynn had ever been, and tended to apply it where Flynn would have just had a stern talk with the crewmember and maybe put them in the brig for a night or two. It seemed to Flynn that the man took some kind of sick pleasure in it. He'd been growing more cruel and vicious every time Flynn turned around.

Things came to a head one afternoon when Flynn wasn't on watch. He'd been asleep in his cabin when Sweete ordered an attack on a small Admiralty vessel called the _Tide's Song_ that was known to be carrying a military payroll from Boralis to Fort Daelin. Flynn woke to the sounds of battle and threw on his clothes, stuffing a pistol in his belt and taking up his cutlasses. By the time he got on deck, it was far too late to do anything about the situation. Taking on the Admiralty directly was the last kind of trouble Flynn wanted, but he wasn't going to surrender the _Raven,_ particularly not when she seemed to be winning the fight.

It was too late to do anything but leap in and hope for the best. The Admiralty sailors fought viciously and Flynn's crew lost half a dozen that day. By the end of it all, every single Admiralty sailor was dead, and Sweete was gloating, bloody, over the gold and the taking of the ship. The _Raven's_ crew, for the most part, was celebrating the victory, but Flynn felt a sick sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.

That evening, he and Sweete had a screaming fight in his cabin, with Sweete justifying the attack. "Our losses weren't that bad," he insisted. "Half a dozen in a fight like that? It's hardly worth noticing. With this victory, we'll have every freebooter in Kul Tiras wanting to sign up to fight for us. We can take on the _Admiralty,_ Fairwind. Your lack of ambition has been doing nothing but holding us back. I did you a _favor_ by ordering the attack!"

"Are you kidding?" Flynn bellowed. "You've doomed every man and woman of us! The Admiralty isn't going to stand by for this. They're going to come after us, and they'll grant us no quarter the next time the _Raven's_ colors are sighted anywhere on the Kul Tiran coast. We will be _hunted._ I was keeping us from their notice so we could operate without interference! You're a bloody fool, Harlan!"

Their fight lasted for over two hours and ended in a standoff. Sweete had too many of the crew at his back for Flynn to just maroon him somewhere, and there were enough who were pleased with the gold Sweete had brought that Flynn was hard pressed to fight the tide of sentiment on board. You couldn't sell an Admiralty vessel anywhere in Kul Tiras. Flynn wanted them to just burn the bloody thing to dispose of the evidence, while Sweete argued that the crew could become an entire fleet -- the Irontide, Sweete called it. A new power, a _real_ power in Kul Tiran waters. They could bring on more people and man the new ship, and they'd be on their way to becoming unstoppable.

Flynn didn't even want to think about it. They made their way toward Northrend because he wanted to let things cool off considerably before he had the _Raven_ in Kul Tiran waters again. A week later, not far off the coast of Howling Fjord, Nelsef came to him. A loyal man, Nelsef said that he'd heard talk of mutiny among the crew, of making Sweete the captain of the _Raven's Wing_. "Watch your back, Cap'n," he said. "I don't think we've got long before things go bad here. Real bad."

Nelsef was right. The weather the next day was rough and stormy, and Nelsef and one of Flynn's other loyalists went missing in the heavy weather, while waves swamped the decks. Things like that happened sometimes in a gale but, while it _could_ have been an accident, Flynn knew it wasn't. Not after his fight with Sweete. Not two of his most loyal people at once. He wondered what had actually happened to Esinelia and if Sweete had killed her while they were ashore so that he'd be elected to the position himself.

When word got out, the Admiralty would be looking for them -- and for him, as the _Raven's_ captain. He hated what he'd become, and what bringing Sweete aboard had made him. The life of a freebooter was going to kill him, and sooner rather than later. Probably tonight, in fact. Sweete himself would see to that. Heartsick and afraid, Flynn gathered a few things in the darkness and dropped a rowboat into the rough waters. They weren't far from Scalawag Point, but he knew that's where Sweete had hoped to recruit a new crew for the former Admiralty vessel. Flynn made for Kamagua instead. 

The seas were still high and stormy with the gale, and the air was cold as a siren's tit. The little boat nearly swamped more than once as he rowed and bailed, and his mind went back to his flight from Boralus when he was nine. Tidemother, there was no way to make this right, no way to escape the life he'd wrought. He didn't know how it could have gone any differently; he was a doomed man, his future determined when his mother died. Flynn longed for a home he'd never really had, and wished his fate had been different. It would likely be years before he could show his face in Kul Tiras again, unless he could give everyone a reason to think him a different man.

He could never just use a disguise. That sort of thing took too much work, and if you responded to the wrong name at the wrong moment, or you hesitated when they called you by the one you'd chosen, you were fucked. If anyone recognized him despite it, he'd be utterly screwed; they'd know he was lying and that would make it all worse. No, he'd have to stay Flynn Fairwind, but the man he had been would have to change. The pirate captain had to be erased; he'd have to be seen as broken and no longer capable of anything beyond bare survival. 

There, in that freezing rowboat, with the waves rising around him and the gale blowing, Flynn Fairwind the freebooter died. All he really wanted was a Tides-damned bottle to drown his sorrows. As he thought about it he realized that could be his answer. No one paid attention to a drunk, or if they did, it was just laughter, or pity. Whenever anyone looked at him, they'd underestimate him, they'd let him pass. And so it was that Flynn Fairwind, the affable idiot, was born. He'd be a drink and a tall tale and a good time, and that was it. He'd hide in plain sight, too drunk and stupid to be a threat to anyone. He knew he could charm people, knew he could hide what he really was. He could act the clown, and had done so for the amusement of it more than once. Now, it would be his protection, a mask he would wear to keep his neck from the noose.

Determined, he put his back into the oars. 

***

"So the alcohol and the…" Mathias gestured. "Deciding to play the fool, it was a conscious, deliberate choice on your part," he said softly, still reeling from everything Flynn had told him.

Flynn nodded, not meeting his eyes from where he sat on the end of the sofa. "Had to be, really, didn't it? An Admiralty payroll? It was the worst kind of mistake. We might've been able to salvage it if we'd not killed every man aboard the ship. It's the kind of thing you don't come back from. You can't pretend you'll only do the smaller stuff, be the less dangerous man, from that point. You're hunted. You've no option to be merciful anymore and nobody will give you quarter; from that moment, it's only kill or be killed. The other pirate crews take notice, and you're either tougher than them and beat them into submission, or they'll kill you themselves for bringing the Admiralty down on everyone."

Mathias offered Flynn the last of the bottle of rum, and Flynn drank it down without even looking at it. "But you were back in Boralus when I met you."

Flynn shrugged, still not meeting Mathias's eyes. "I'm good. What can I say? And sometimes you can work out a deal, if you know the right people." He looked up, finally, his face taut with stress and anxiety. "I told you, after you'd rescued us from the _Despair,_ that I'd been a shark. I was. I killed some of those people without a single shred of remorse and didn't lose a minute's sleep over it. Some of them I'll never regret killing."

"Sounds like some of them needed it," Mathias said, knowing he'd killed in cold blood for far, far less. Flynn was still curled almost into a ball against the arm of the sofa, and Mathias wasn't sure if he would even want to be touched just yet. "Neither of us has clean hands. You might not think I have regrets over some of the things I've done, Flynn, but I do. And there were kills that blew past like snow on the wind, without a trace. We both have to live with everything we've done, like it or not. I've had the support, and the orders of the crown for my protection. You had nothing. You had to entirely remake yourself to survive."

"There's this poem I read somewhere once. It feels like what I had to do. I know you've read a lot. You probably even went to school somewhere." Flynn sighed. "Maybe you've read it:

"Full fathom five thy father lies;  
Of his bones are coral made;  
Those are pearls that were his eyes:  
Nothing of him that doth fade  
But doth suffer a sea-change  
Into something rich and strange."

Flynn shivered after he quoted the poem. Mathias had heard it before, but hadn't ever thought much about it. The language was old and sounded odd to his ears. An assassin didn't have much use for poetry, really.

"I feel like that, some days," Flynn said. "Not rich, just strange. Changed. Changed so completely that most wouldn't recognize what I'd become from the man I was. Nothing as valuable as pearls and coral, though." His voice was rough with unshed tears.

Mathias turned toward his lover and opened his arms, inviting Flynn to him, if he wanted to come. Flynn leaned slowly into him, wrapping himself in Mathias's embrace, and wept.


	5. Sea Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some ideas about Cyrus and Flynn from Toshimasa make an appearance here, thank you!

The tuskarr asked no questions when Flynn came ashore, and he rested there a few days before he moved on, hoping Sweete wouldn't come looking for him. He knew the man would kill him if he found him. Regardless of the situation, Flynn wasn't ready to die.

He spent months nearly too drunk to stand, gambling for money to survive on. He'd always been lucky at dice, except when he wasn't. It wasn't hard to play the drunken fool when half of it wasn't a lie. He mourned his lost life until he wasn't sure that it was actually worth mourning anyway.

Eventually, Flynn signed on to a vrykul trader bound for Stormheim, though he didn't stay for more than a few days once they made landfall. He skipped ships to a goblin tanker and found himself in Gadgetzan. It suited him better, and he made friends there, laying low as best he could, charming his way into people's beds for the sake of a meal and a warm place to sleep the night.

Flynn never stayed anywhere long. It was too much of a risk. Gradually, the pain of his old life faded away and he thought maybe enough time had passed that the new, harmless Fairwind might be able to go home to Kul Tiras. Much as he was a sailor and loved being at sea, Kul Tiras was his home, and he longed to hear voices like his own, to eat familiar food, to see other Kul Tirans. It would be a risk, but he thought he had a chance, at least. 

The loneliness ate at him. There was no one he could trust, nowhere he felt safe. He laughed and joked and made his pratfalls. He flirted and stumbled through life half-drunk until he couldn't stand it any longer and decided to take a chance. A Kul Tiran trader took him on as a deckhand; he didn't dare claim experience for anything else for fear they'd look into him and find out who he'd been. He landed in Mariner's Strand and left the ship, making his way on foot back toward Tiragarde Sound.

In Brennadam he met a pretty young gal by the name of Taelia and, though he flirted with her outrageously, she treated him more like an idiot brother than anything else. They traveled together back to Hatherford, where she'd left her gryphon, and forged a solid friendship despite Flynn's unfortunate crush.

It turned out that Taelia was the squire of Cyrus Crestfall, the Harbormaster in Boralus. Flynn wasn't sure if it was safe to go back to the city, what with Proudmoore Keep and the Admiralty right there, but it had been a few years now; Harlan Sweete was the pirate on everyone's lips, not Flynn Fairwind anymore. The Irontide had become a force to be reckoned with and had taken over Freehold entirely. He hoped enough time had gone by that he'd not be taken by the guards when he passed through the Ashvane Yards to the harbor.

Tae eventually gave him a ride into the city on Galeheart and left him standing there at the gryphon roost at Tradewinds Market, saying she could be found at the Harbormaster's office if he needed her for anything. Flynn promptly went to find the nearest inn. He needed a room for a couple of nights while he found an actual place to live. Even just a bed in a rooming house would be fine, though more privacy would be nice.

Tae treated him kindly, and he'd needed that. He'd been needing it for years, so of course he'd fallen for her. When Cyrus sent her off to do something, half the time she brought Flynn along for company and as an extra sword, because she knew he could at least smack something with a reasonable bit of skill. She learned, eventually, that he'd been a pirate once, but by then she liked and trusted him enough that it didn't really matter, and he'd been getting a half-decent reputation with the Harbormaster as well, but Flynn worried. 

"I had a cousin on the _Tide's Song,_ " Cyrus said one evening, when the two of them were alone in his office having a whiskey. Flynn's blood froze. The Admiralty ship that Harlan had attacked. Flynn swallowed roughly, eyes twitching toward the exit. He didn't think he'd make it to the door if he bolted.

"That… That was Sweete," he said, his voice shaking.

Cyrus nodded. "When the _Song_ and the _Raven's Wing_ showed up in Kul Tiran waters again a couple of months later, flying a new ensign and calling themselves the Irontide, I figured as much. When no one saw you again after the _Song_ was taken, I thought there'd been a mutiny and they'd killed you and taken over. You were never the most dangerous of 'em, Fairwind, but you were easily the smartest. Your harmless drunk act is good, but it doesn't fool me."

Flynn sat, staring at Cyrus, trying not to tremble. "W-what are you going to do?"

"If you agree to take odd jobs from me? Nothing." Flynn stared in disbelief. He knocked back the rest of the whiskey in one go. "I need someone like you, Fairwind. Strange things are afoot. I need a man who can navigate in a pea soup fog like the world you left -- I need a pirate who's turned. Someone who knows the names and faces. Someone who knows the crews. Someone who knows Freehold."

Hesitant, Flynn said, "If I go back there and anyone recognizes me, Sweete will kill me, and he'll happily torture me first. You know his reputation. There's a price on my head there and I'm useless to you dead." He'd spent enough time avoiding that fate, he didn't want to serve himself up on a trencher.

Cyrus nodded. "I don't intend to send you in there, but there are other things that you could help me with. House Stormsong's going a bit strange. Lady Ashvane's got something up her sleeve but I can't take it to Katherine; they're too close and she won't listen to anyone. You can go places where the Admiralty can't, where the Proudmoores can't. You're good at avoiding the wrong kind of notice. I'll keep you off the gallows if you'll work for me."

"I need to be able to decide if something's too dangerous," Flynn insisted. "Getting myself shot's no better than hanging."

"You'll have a certain amount of discretion." Cyrus tilted his head and sipped his whiskey.

It was sounding a little less deadly, at least. "Given the kinds of things I suspect you want me to do, you need to let me handle it in my own way. It might not always make much sense to you, but I know what I'm doing. I know the kinds of things that'll work, and what's likely not to."

"I did say that I need someone who knows that lot. If I give you a job and it gets done? I'm not that worried about the methods you choose. But know this, Fairwind," Cyrus pointed one finger at him, adamant, "if you double-cross me, if you go back to that life, I'll see you swing without a moment's hesitation. Don't imagine I won't."

Flynn had figured as much, but it was the best deal he was going to get out of this. He needed to see if he had any room for negotiation, though. A bloke had to make a living. "What's the pay like? I do have expenses, you know. I don't fancy sleeping on doorsteps anymore, and eating once in a while's also a nice thing. I do appreciate a good meal, preferably at least once a day."

"I can promise you'll be adequately compensated." 

Flynn nodded. Not like he had a lot of choice, but at least Cyrus would pay him.

One night at the Curious Octopus, Flynn fell into a game of dice with a young toff who claimed to have his own ship. He seemed a bit young to be a captain, but if you're rich, Flynn thought, you could get away with a lot. They spent half the night at dice and Flynn cleaned out pretty much everyone at the Octopus, but the toff just didn't know when he was beat. A little after midnight, he went all-in and put the papers for his ship on the table against Flynn's pile of gold, and it was far too much of a temptation. Sure, he might lose everything he'd won that night, but to have his own ship again? Tides, there was no way he was going to turn that chance down.

Flynn let the kid roll first, and it was looking very middle of the road. Could go either way. He picked up the dice and shook them in his hands, whispering a prayer to the Tidemother, even if he knew the old squid wouldn't give a seagull's shit about the outcome. Eyes closed, he let them go, and they rattled across the table. The toff's gasp brought a smile to his lips, and Flynn opened one eye. He let out a whoop of triumph as he opened the other and picked up the ownership papers, scooping his gold into a bag. "Where's my new ship berthed?" he asked.

"Sh-she's berthed in the main harbor," the kid said. 

Flynn called to the barkeep for some paper, and a quill and ink bottle. When they arrived he said, "You're writing out the ownership transfer right now. I'm not leaving until it's done. Neither are you."

The bloke looked like Flynn had stabbed his mother, and wept as he wrote out the transfer, but hey, it had been his choice to wager the _Speckled Windblower_ \-- Tides, what an awful name -- against Flynn's gold.

He found her the next day. Toff the bloke might have been but, frankly, the ship was a bit of a disaster. She needed a lot of work and, when Flynn went to file the transfer, he renamed her the _Middenwake_ because she was a bloody trash heap, but at least she was his.

***

"You pretty much know the rest," Flynn said, his voice rough from talking so long. "I wouldn't blame you if you were done with me after hearing it all." He lay on his back between Mathias's legs, the man's arms wrapped around him as Flynn stared up at the ceiling. His head rested on his matelot's shoulder.

Mathias nuzzled his ear and murmured, "I'm not done with you, Flynn. I don't think I'll ever be done with you. The fact that you've been dragged through the abyss most of your life doesn't mean I don't want you." He tightened his arms around his love.

Flynn rested his arms over Mathias's, tanging their fingers together. "Then I'm lucky."

"So am I. It had to be awful, talking about all that tonight."

Flynn shrugged. "You've talked about Felsoul Hold with me, more than once. And you still wake up screaming from it sometimes. Doesn't seem like much, in comparison to what the demons did to you."

Mathias sighed, frustrated. "It's not a contest, Flynn."

"You always say that."

"Because it's true. And I'll remind you that you've said the same to me." He pressed a kiss to Flynn's cheek. "You had to change your entire life, hide everything you are in order to stay alive. That's its own nightmare. And I'm not the only one who wakes in the night like that. I think that's part of why we work so well, why we fit so well together. Both of us have been damaged by what life has thrown at us, but it means that we can have patience with each other."

Flynn made a noncommittal noise and Mathias continued. "You are. You're more patient than I deserve sometimes. Trust… has been so hard for me, but I know that I can trust you. It's the only thing that's made this possible. Before you, I didn't even know who I was, Flynn. Everything in my life was duty. Then you showed up and annoyed me until I couldn't ignore you anymore. You're very good at it, you know."

Flynn chuckled. "It's a gift."

"You are," Mathias murmured. "You have no idea how much of a gift you are to me."

"When did you get so sentimental, love?" Flynn rested his nose against Mathias's chin and pressed Mathias's arms to himself.

Mathias huffed. "In that Zandalari prison cell, I think."

"Blades of grass and whatnot."

Mathias nodded. "You're the one who carries it in your compass. Tied in with your own hair. Don't talk to me about sentimental."

"I can't help it if I like to be reminded of you when I'm at sea. It gets lonely out there." Flynn nuzzled. 

Mathias tilted his head into it. "And that made it the most heartbreaking thing that bastard could have sent me," he said, his chest tight with the memory of it.

"I could have had him send the necklace you gave me but I figured if you had the compass and I made it home someday, at least I wouldn't lose it." Flynn's voice was shaky. 

Mathias shook his head and held Flynn to him with all his strength. "It wouldn't have had anywhere close to the same impact. When that goblin handed it to me…" He took a shuddering breath. "I was going to strangle him right there, but Steelspark stopped me. She reminded me we'd never get you back if I killed him."

"I'm still having a hard time believing you talked Himself out of the treasury's gold for me. Even if you planned to get it back. That was… Tides, Mathias, that was an idiot move. I'm _glad_ you came for me. Never imagine I'm not. But that…"

Mathias tilted Flynn's chin and kissed him. The kiss was gentle, but the emotions he felt were so fierce he could barely contain them. "I don't care what anyone says about it. I don't care what anyone thinks. I would _never_ have left you with him. If I hadn't been able to talk Anduin into it, I'd have found another way." His breath caught. "You are _everything_ to me."

Flynn turned in his arms. "Take me to bed, love." Mathias could feel the weight of the words in Flynn's voice and he nodded.

He kissed Flynn again, harder this time. "Up." He ran his hand down Flynn's side. "Anything you want. Anything you need."

Flynn rose and took his hand and they made their way to their bed. When they got there, Flynn tugged at Mathias's clothes, pulling his shirt off over his head, and Mathias let him. They undressed each other and stood, body to body, arms around each other, just feeling the press of warm skin and beating hearts for a few minutes. Mathias rested his chin on Flynn's shoulder, his eyes closed. Flynn's hands moved slowly up and down his back.

Neither of them were hard yet. The emotion was too intense for that, at least for Mathias. He thought maybe for Flynn, as well. The day had been long and exhausting for both of them, and Flynn seemed wrung out from what he'd had to say. Mathias wouldn't blame him if that were the case.

Some time later, Flynn settled them both on the bed and pulled Mathias on top of him. "What do you need?" Mathias whispered.

Flynn held him. "What I need more than anything right now is your cock buried in me, and for you to make everything in my head go away for a while. I need that more than I need to breathe right now. Fuck me and make me stop thinking about everything that went wrong in my life."

"I can do that," Mathias murmured, and kissed him. Flynn moaned into it, quiet and intense. His hands slid down Mathias's sides to his hips and pulled him against Flynn's groin. They kissed until Mathias's body started to respond and he rocked his hips against Flynn, wanting to draw the same response from his exhausted lover.

Flynn's breath grew ragged and Mathias kissed his way down Flynn's neck to his chest, running his beard and moustache over his lover's skin. Flynn shivered and hissed when Mathias kissed and nipped gently at one nipple, so he kept at it until Flynn was hard against his belly. He teased at the other with his fingers, pinching and rolling it, and Flynn moaned and bucked against him.

Mathias crawled back up the bed and kissed Flynn on the way so that he could rummage under the bed for the pot of slick they kept there. He kissed him again after he'd found it, and opened it. Flynn made an approving noise. Mathias gathered some up in his fingers and knelt back, his thighs on either side of Flynn's hips. He slicked up Flynn's cock and stroked him, slow and gentle, as his lover closed his eyes and sighed. "Feels good," Flynn murmured.

"I'll take care of you," Mathias told him. "Give you everything you need."

"I know." Flynn looked up at him and smiled, looking less stressed now.

Mathias moved and had Flynn open his legs, then knelt back between them. Flynn raised his knees and let them fall open. Mathias added more slick and slipped his hand down to Flynn's bollocks, caressing and running his fingers back to the skin behind them. 

"Mmmm. You can do more of that," Flynn murmured.

Mathias let his fingers trace round the tight knot of Flynn's hole, caressing and pressing, and Flynn's legs fell open even further, welcoming his touch.

"You could do that all week, you know, but I do kind of hope you'll get on with the fucking soon." Flynn gave him a crooked smile.

Mathias chuckled. "I'll get there. I promise."

He felt no great urgency for himself. Mathias was hard, but what he wanted was Flynn's pleasure, his release, and his ease. He teased for a while then slid one finger into his lover and listened to the sound he made, a little breathless, as Flynn's head tilted back on the pillow. "That's more like it," Flynn said.

"Hush, you. Let me work." Mathias smiled and pressed in deeper, moving slowly in and out.

"Work," Flynn muttered. "I'm sure this is such a terrible cho-- _ah!_ " Mathias rubbed over that sensitive spot again and Flynn writhed for him, gasping.

"Picking a complicated lock takes finesse." Mathias couldn't help smirking.

"Finesse a bit faster," Flynn gasped, his spine arching. His fingers fisted in the sheets.

Mathias pressed again and Flynn groaned. He slid a second finger inside and Flynn whimpered, tightening around them, his cock twitching and starting to leak. Mathias was feeling it himself, watching his lover react to his ministrations, his own breath coming a little sharper.

"Please," Flynn whispered. "Oh, Tides, please. I need you."

At that, Mathias didn't want to wait any longer. He withdrew his fingers and smeared slick on himself, then tucked Flynn's legs over his thighs, moving closer until he could press himself into his lover's tight, waiting body. Both of them moaned as he slid inside, Flynn's legs trembling with it. Mathias leaned forward, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of Flynn's chest and thrust, slow and careful and deep, his body tense with his need to control his own reaction. He kissed Flynn, their lips open and gasping, and licked into his mouth. Flynn sucked on his tongue and it ached in Mathias's cock. He groaned and pushed in deeper, drawing a bone-deep shudder from Flynn along with another moan.

"All right?" Mathias asked, breathless. Flynn just wrapped his arms around him as best he could and kissed him again. His hips rocked into Mathias's slow thrusts.

"Need you more than _breathing,_ " Flynn panted.

Mathias ached inside Flynn, his cock throbbing with his pulse. Flynn wasn't the only one who needed. They fit together so well; not just physically but in some indefinable way that Mathias could barely comprehend. When they were together, when they made love, he felt _whole._ His head dropped to Flynn's shoulder, forehead pressing into the angle of his neck. Mathias couldn't keep his eyes open, couldn't hold his head up for the intensity of it. Flynn shuddered and gasped again as Mathias thrust in all the way, grinding as deep as he could go, and Mathias's chest was full to bursting with the love he felt.

"You're so… oh, fuck, _Flynn._ " His arms were trembling and he had to move. He folded Flynn a bit and let his weight rest on Flynn's chest and his thighs, tucking one hand under Flynn's shoulder blade and reaching between them to stroke slowly at his cock. Flynn tried to pull him closer, but it was always going to be a little awkward like this. It was easier to press the whole length of his body along Flynn's back, but this was where they were right now, and he needed to see Flynn's eyes, to be able to kiss him, their shattered breath brushing each other's faces.

He kissed Flynn again, fierce and deep, his hips moving faster.

"So good," Flynn groaned. Mathias couldn't even speak to reply; his voice rumbled in his chest and Flynn shivered with it. "More, love," Flynn begged.

And that was all Mathias's control could take. He drove into Flynn, hips snapping with the force of his thrusts and Flynn howled his pleasure, bucking beneath him. Mathias's lungs labored as Flynn gasped, "Yes, yes, yes," over and over until he spilled between them.

Mathias shivered and held Flynn as he came apart in his arms. It was intense, Flynn's face open and flushed in ecstasy. He shuddered under Mathias, head tossing side to side on the pillow as he cried out. Mathias held on through the tempest of it, hips moving, desperate and so in love with the man that he could barely breathe. Flynn's pleasure crested and eased to a shuddering halt, and he lay limp and pliant under Mathias's weight. Mathias was so close, and Flynn looked up at him, eyes half closed. He stroked Mathias's face with one trembling hand, pushing sweat-damp hair back toward one ear. 

The gentleness of the gesture unmoored him and everything he'd been holding back burst forth, a tide of physical bliss. His heart thundered and he shouted, wordless and overcome in pulse after pulse of his cock. Shaken and spent, he collapsed, and Flynn's legs slid down along his as Mathias slipped out of his body, Flynn's arms catching him and holding him close. He lay there, his muscles in tremor, just breathing, eyes closed, feeling the warmth of his lover around him.

They lay together, helpless and weak, as they recovered. The sheer vulnerability of it was terrifying, but Mathias wouldn't trade the feeling for anything. Flynn's fingers played idly in Mathias's damp hair. Mathias sighed.

"You with me?" Flynn murmured. Mathias nodded and made a small "mmhm" of assent. "That was…" Flynn took a deep breath and let it out. "You're just…"

"You don't need to talk if you can't," Mathias told him.

"I wish I had words for how I feel, but I don't."

Mathias shifted his weight and slid down to lie by Flynn's side, one arm over his chest. He rested his head on the pillow next to Flynn's. They looked at each other. "Do we need words?"

Flynn thought for a moment and blinked. He shook his head. "Not really, I guess." He shrugged. "Maybe."

"I love you." Mathias felt it in every damned cell in his body.

Flynn smiled at him. "Those words will probably do."


End file.
